


My Own Private Valhalla

by Ori (magnetium)



Category: True Blood
Genre: Age Play, Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetium/pseuds/Ori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nights like these are few and far between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Own Private Valhalla

Eric had never told anyone before, but he had actually seen a valkyrie.

It had been a cold, misty night, deep in the heart of their enemy's territory; they were at war with a tribe that controlled a particular strait of water territory, one that was excellent for fishing. The control of the strait hadn't been the real issue, and was far enough from Eric's tribe that they might never have clashed over it, except that the waters where his people usually fished were becoming more and more barren, forcing them to venture further out, and every time they tried to pass through the strait, this damn tribe attacked them. They hadn't even been trying to fish there, but neither Eric's people nor this other clan were prone to peaceful negotiations, so it had begun with raiding parties sent from both sides, and escalated into a full-blown war. To be truthful, although Eric never liked losing brothers, his sword had been dry for too long. Fighting was like fucking, albeit with slightly more lethal consequences (not that Eric hadn't come close to losing an eye or a finger a few times in the course of the latter). He couldn't go long without either.

The valkyrie had been beautiful, so much so that Eric doubted his eyes at first. There was blood in them, mostly from the slain all around him, and he tried wiping it away, to see if the apparition would disappear. It did not. She stood at least seven feet tall, stately and broad-shouldered, her long, white face full of fierceness and compassion. She had knelt, as Eric watched from beneath the tree he was propped against, and lifted one of the fallen men in her arms, staring at him. Her long, golden braids hung down around her face, matched only in brilliance by her beautiful wings.

 _They do have wings_ , he'd thought to himself. He'd always wondered.

His breath had been coming in short, painful gasps, a blow to his side making it harder to draw air, not helped by the dropping temperatures. If it had been any other night, he would have crawled forward, onto the battlefield, looking for a flask tucked away on one of the corpses, anything to dull the pain. But that evening he had simply remained where he was, unwilling to disturb the beautiful, fearsome creature that strode forward, waving her hand at a man here, and another there, examining each warrior as though she was looking into their soul. And so she was. For the first time, Eric wished he had died in battle, so that he could be laying with his brothers, waiting to be judged.

"And then what happened?"

Eric looked down, having almost forgotten he was telling the story to anyone but himself. For a few brief moments, he had been back on that field, choking on the icy air, filled with awe. He reached out and smoothed Godric's hair, smiling at the way the other vampire gazed up at him with wide eyes, curled up in his flannel pyjamas as they lay together in the bed.

"Then... she left." He nodded his head upward to indicate her ascent.

"She flew away?" Godric shifted, clutching tighter to the pillow that he had wrapped his arms around. He held onto it as a small boy would hold a teddy bear, like a talisman of comfort.

"Yes. And the men she had selected flew with her. They stood and followed behind her, all the way to Valhalla. I fell asleep then, from the pain, and when I awoke in the morning, the men that had left the night before were still missing from the ground. That was how I knew it wasn't an illusion." Eric took the cushion from Godric, moving it aside so he could draw him closer. He felt only a slight hesitation in the smaller body as he pushed him back against the pillows.

"Tell me about Valhalla," Godric asked, a hopeful expression on his face. He shivered from the touch of Eric's fingers, as they ran down his chest, but he remained fixated on the story.

"Again?" Eric laughed. "I've told you about it before."

"Tell me one more time."

"All right." As he spoke, Eric began to unbutton the front of Godric's pyjama shirt, kissing each new expanse of flesh he uncovered. "Valhalla is the domain of Freyja, the chief of all the valkyries. Only the bravest warriors are selected to go there, after they've fallen in battle." _Kiss, kiss_. Godric made a little murmuring sound and wiggled a bit, but waited for Eric to go on.

"In Valhalla, the warriors become einherjar and every night they have a great feast, with never-ending food and mead served by the valkyries." _Kiss_. The shirt was completely unbuttoned now, and Eric drew it back, licking his stomach a little, then biting gently. Godric whined, his hips raising uncertainly.

"What about during the day?" It sounded like Godric was making more of an effort to keep his voice steady now.

"When they're done feasting, they sleep in one of the 540 rooms in the great hall, each of which is large enough for hundreds of men. Then they awake, and train for Ragnarök."

"And they like it there?" Godric's hands were on him now, clutching at his arms as though Eric would provide an anchor against the flow of sensations, as the larger vampire's fingers slid his drawstring trousers down just enough to expose his hips, tracing the inner curve of his abdomen as he went.

"They love it. It's the greatest fate a warrior can hope for: every day filled with battle training, every night a feast with his brothers."

"And you would rather be with them."

Eric's fingers stilled as he gazed down at Godric, pausing at the look of worry on Godric's face.

"No." He leaned in, kissing just below Godric's jaw, nuzzling him. "If I was there, who would take care of you?"

Godric shrugged. "I can take care of myself," he said, his voice softer, less sure.

Eric laughed again, wrapping his arms around the smaller vampire and pulling him close, so tightly that neither of them could have breathed comfortably, if they'd needed to; it was exactly the way Godric liked to be held. "No, you can't. I wouldn't allow it." He felt the smile against his chest, instead of seeing it.

"There is nothing of value for me in Valhalla now," he said, speaking low into Godric's ear.

"And here?" Godric's voice was muffled, but Eric heard the words easily.

"And here there is something of very great value." He kissed the ear that his lips were still beside. "Something I wouldn't trade all the mead of Heiðrún for."

"You can't drink mead."

"All the blood, then."

"Ew, goat blood." Godric pulled back and wrinkled his nose, looking impossibly young. On nights like tonight, when they played this game (although it wasn't a game, not really, not like their others), and Eric allowed himself to see how _small_ Godric was, he was often taken aback by it. His maker's presence could take up an entire room: he could be larger than Eric when he was angry and his eyes were ablaze, or when he was hungry and his mouth became vicious. But when Godric returned to himself and slid into Eric's arms and murmured _fader_ to him... he was simply a boy--not in the sense of inexperience or immaturity, but in the way anyone can become a child again in the presence of someone from whom they receive unconditional love. And Eric had no conditions.

He nodded and let the other vampire fall back onto the pillows again, this time moving to lay beside him, sliding a leg over both of Godric's and pulling them in, trapping the small body against his. His hand moved to Godric's far arm, stroking it gently. On nights like these he could touch as much as he liked, could indulge in the perversity of owning Godric's body, and he enjoyed taking advantage of it. Their passion did not always burn bright, the way humans could love, like a speeding car bursting through the guide rails on the side of a cliff, hurtling forward with no time for thought. They had plenty of time for thought--too much, sometimes. They could go months without touching, without kissing, a few times even without talking. And when they did touch, Godric often held him down, their only contact his hand on the back of Eric's neck, and the rapid sliding inside him. Eric didn't mind it--it was common for makers and their children to engage in very fierce displays of domination when they were sexual with each other--and there was nothing on earth like the feeling of Godric pushing into him, while drawing his blood out.

But occasionally there were nights like this, when he woke to the top of his coffin being opened, as soon as the sun had fallen from the sky, and felt Godric crawl in beside him, wrapping his limbs around Eric's prone body. On these nights he could touch anywhere, he could bury his face against his maker's chest with no fear of being pushed away, he could kiss so hard he was filled with a deep, aching joy. Somehow, in the course of the last millennia, he had become addicted to Godric's skin, even moreso than his blood--of which he was also allowed to partake on nights like these.

"I'm sorry," he heard, somewhere above him. He lifted his head from where he had laid it on Godric's stomach, looking up at him.

"Why?"

"I distracted you. You were... unbuttoning." Godric gestured at his shirt, then his pyjama bottoms.

"There's plenty of time for that." Eric slid back up, cupping one of the soft, pale cheeks that framed Godric's lips, and leaned in to kiss the apology away. Godric put his arms around Eric's neck, so that their faces remained close even when the kiss had ended.

"Did you ever see the valkyrie again?"

Eric shook his head. "Never. Not long after, I fought my last battle as a mortal, and took a lethal blow. I thought perhaps the valkyrie would return, but she was not the one who visited me that night."

"Were you disappointed?"

Smiling, Eric kissed Godric's forehead, murmuring, " _Vackra barn_..." Beautiful child. "Of course not. I didn't know it, but I'd been waiting to see your face all my life."

Godric's mouth turned up at the corners, reflecting his own. His fingers tightened around Eric, and he whispered, "Do you want to drink from me?" There was a sweet pleasure in how tentatively he asked, as though Eric might decline.

"Yes," he told him. "Always." The word felt more weighted than usual, heavy like the lust in Eric's stomach, burdened with unspoken meaning.

He put his lips against Godric's neck, breathing in the scent, his fangs resting against the skin there. He knew this was the beginning, just a sip to whet his appetite. This was a taste to prepare him for a moment that would come much later, when he would give Godric a wrist, so they could drink together as Eric filled him.

So for now, he was slow and careful as he slid his teeth in, causing a helpless groan to slip out of Godric. He closed his eyes as he felt the bond take over-- _your blood, my blood_ \--their bodies becoming one, ever so briefly, connected through two tiny holes in Godric's throat. Then he drank, and he was sure there had never been anything sweeter.


End file.
